Fraternal War
by 33zero33
Summary: They were like brothers at one point. Why had that changed?


Just two miles away from the center of Tokyo, Japan was a small building that resembled a temple, but not a temple. It was painted white and had twin statues guarding the door on each side. Above the door hung a sign with words that meant nothing. If one were to sit down next to the building, one would notice that no one entered the building. However, if one were to observe the building on a particular day at a particular time, one would see a person, not a boy but not yet a man, walk curiously through the door of the building.

If one were good at reading people, one would notice said person's confusion upon entering the building. It was not only painted pure black, but also consisted of nothing, save a small photograph framed on the wall across from the door. The person stood there before the photo, studying every inch of it.

"You like that photo, do you boy?" creaked an ancient voice from behind.

The person spun around in surprise. Behind him stood a wizened old man with a broom. He turned to go; sensing the old man had some task to complete in the strange building.

"Stay, boy," said the man. "You don't need to go. This place gets too little visitors."

"What is this a photo of?" ventured the person, gesturing toward the small, framed photo.

The old man began laughing a high, creaky laugh.

"Curious are you?" he cackled between laughs. "Tell me, boy, what do you see?"

"Two children," answered the person. "They… they look like brothers."

"Indeed they were," said the old man. "At one point they were just like two brothers."

" 'At one point'?" echoed the person.

"Ach, you're a curious one," said the old man, setting the broom aside. "There's a story behind that photo. You want to hear it or you too busy? Young people are always rushing off to some place or other."

"I want to hear," replied the person curiously. "They've got swords. Are they like samurai or something? Like from the feudal times?"

"Ach, it ain't that old," laughed the old man. "It began more than half a century ago, in this very city…

It was the worst of times, yet for some it was the best of times. The country was in chaos then, the government ripped in two, and the civilians fleeing or dying by the thousand each day. The emperor who had been revered and respected for centuries of history was suddenly declared the one responsible for the country's problems and executed by angry rebels. Lords and other men of power joined together, betrayed each other, formed alliances, and the result being two equally strong equally numerous powers that argued and debated day and night, the delicate peace between them threatening to shatter at any day. All feelings of patriotism and pride of the country escaped from the conscious thoughts of the people, replaced by the drive to survive.

Yet despite, or perhaps because of, this chaos and disorder, people looked beyond their everyday problems and lives and saw their own ideal world of virtues and prosperity for all. Many fought, lived, and died for these ideals and humans populated this chaotic country, not mindless fugitives.

However, even to the most idealistic man, a child would no doubt be a hindrance at this time. No one was surprised at all to see a newborn infant abandoned in the middle of a place where it was unlikely to survive. No one was surprised to see that such abandoned children were rarely ever taken in by others and very few, if any, of them survived.

This abandonment of children was not restricted to newborns. Often, one could see toddlers or young children and even the occasional teenager wandering listlessly around, begging for a scrap of food.

Our protagonists started out no differently as these unfortunate youths. The older of the two lived down in the southern parts of Tokyo and the younger in central Tokyo (they do not meet until later).

The older was very small when he was abandoned, only about thirteen months old. If he shut his eyes and thought hard, he could remember tears and flashes of an old blue kimono, but other than that, he could not recall his parents. He was left on the side of a street and had somehow or other managed to crawl onto the front porch of an old lady's shack. The old lady did not have the heart to turn away this little boy, so she took him in, much to the anger of her husband.

The old lady named the boy Toshiro after her father, whom she had adored.

Toshiro lived with the old lady for about four years in total, during which he never really got along with the husband. One morning, the husband had taken his reluctantly adopted son on a walk, hoping that he would get lost. Toshiro, being a particularly bright boy, had figured out the husband's plan. The rest of the day had passed by in a blur, resulting in the husband returning home with a broken leg. This incident worsened his and Toshiro's relationship with each other.

The younger boy was slightly older when his father, who had never really wanted him, abandoned him. His sickly mother, on the other hand, had adored him and whose dead body was not even cold when his father sent him off to be dumped somewhere. He was old enough to know that his parents were better off than other people were. He could remember his father being addressed as "Lord" and his mother as "Lady". When he thought hard, he could see a large castle and his parents in clothes made of silk.

The people had no pity for the lord's son who had been unwanted. Perhaps this was because of his being a lord's son or perhaps it was for the same reason that his father had not wanted him. His appearance was… strange. He definitely did not seem Japanese and he didn't even resemble any foreigners. His complexion was a sickly pale, possibly inherited from his mother, and his eyes were icy blue and unblinking. His hair was an unnatural color, silver that seemed blue under certain light. It was mostly his constant grin that bothered people. Some might have thought he was sadistic enough to find amusement in the suffering of others, some thought he thought he was superior to them, and some might have even sensed that his smile wasn't real and were unnerved by this.

He had no name, as he could not remember the name given to him by his mother and no one else had bothered to name him. The townspeople called him "Yokai" or "Gin". He didn't mind this at all and used these names himself, alternating them off, switching them around as he pleased.

When Toshiro turned five, the old lady that had took him in died. Without skipping a beat, the husband promptly kicked Toshiro out of the house with nothing but the clothes on this back, telling him to never return. Unsurprisingly, Toshiro did not obey. He visited the old lady's grave each night, putting some scraps of food onto the grave, as a way to say thank you.

One night several days later, Toshiro had just finished his nightly task of putting food on the grave and turned to leave, when he heard footsteps behind him. They weren't loud, but quiet and soft, the footsteps of someone used to sneaking around. He turned around and saw a boy younger than he taking the food he had just left. Blind with anger, he tackled the boy and tried to pummel him with his fists. However, the boy was obviously just as experienced at street fighting. He instinctively blocked every one of Toshiro's punches and managed to make his right fist connect with Toshiro's jaw. It stung and Toshiro was sure he now had a big bruise on his face, but he refused to release the boy. They scuffled for a while longer, exchanging blows, one trying to escape and the other not allowing him to escape. Finally, the younger one stopped struggling and lay very still, as if dead. Toshiro, however, was no fool. He had seen this trick a thousand times among the other children fighting for food. The moment he released his grip, the younger boy was going to run away.

"Who are you?" asked Toshiro, still gasping for breath.

Silence.

"I know you're alive," snapped Toshiro, growing impatient.

He looked down at the boy only to see that he had vanished. He was left holding a piece of cloth attached to a heavy stone. Muttering a few curses to himself, he walked off. The next night, he hid near the grave, waiting for the boy to show up. He didn't. For several nights, Toshiro repeated this, only to get the same result. He never revisited the grave after this. After all, the dead didn't need food; some other person'll only steal it. He never met the boy again for the next few months.

Then, by a curious twist of fate, Toshiro crashed into an odd looking boy in central Tokyo one day as he was running from a gang of older boys. Had the boy been one of the lords' pampered brats, he would no doubt had been bowled over, but this boy instinctively dug his heels into the ground and managed to not topple over. There was almost something familiar about the way the boy defended himself. Toshiro looked him over. He was wearing a dirty blue kimono with half of the left sleeve torn off. The boy turned to run, but Toshiro grabbed his arm.

"Five months ago," he said, "did you steal food from an older boy at a cemetery?"

"I steal from a lot of people," replied the boy, trying to twist away from Toshiro's grasp.

"Did you or did you not?" demanded Toshiro.

"I wouldn't remember," said the boy. "Too many fools leave food at cemeteries for me to take."

"No recollection whatsoever of fighting with an older boy and then tearing off your sleeve to tie to a rock?"

"Not at all, let go."

"You didn't even think."

"I don't need to."

"You're lying. You are that kid."

"Don't know what you're talking about."

"Tell me or I'll throw you to that pack of buffoons I just escaped from."

"You wouldn't."

"I would."

"No, I mean you wouldn't because the minute they see you, they're going to charge, you'll let go of me, and I'll run away."

"You really like to talk back don't you? Haven't you any respect?"

"Nope. Let go."

"Not until you give me a proper answer."

"I've gave you one already."

"That was a downright lie and you know it."

"Fine. I was that kid. Now let go."

"Now you're just giving me a random answer."

"…There's no pleasing you is there? I was the boy whom you unceremoniously tackled and attempted to beat up because he was trying to take food from a dead woman."

"Thank you," snapped Toshiro. "That wasn't too hard. What's your name?"

"That wasn't part of the deal. Let go."

"First of all, there was no deal. Second of all, the minute I let go, you'll run away."

"I'm not going to run. There's no benefit for me if I run."

"You ran last time."

"That was because a) there was food and b) you were trying to kill me. Now let go and maybe I'll see fit to talk to you."

Reluctantly, Toshiro released his grip on the boy.

"I'm Toshiro," he said. "And you?"

The boy looked at him through his icy eyes, pausing awkwardly as if he didn't know his own name.

"Soji," he finally said.

"It is not," protested Toshiro. "You just made that up. What do people call you?"

"Yokai," said the boy, "and Gin. I think some of them call me some sort of combination of them."

" 'Yokai'? 'Gin'?" echoed Toshiro.

"Yeah, you'll notice most of us weren't doted upon by a benevolent old lady," replied the boy sarcastically. "You can call me whatever, I don't really care."

"I think Soji suits you," decided Toshiro. "It's much nicer than the other names."

The boy looked at Toshiro, then burst out laughing.

"You sound like you plan on hanging around me," said the boy.

"W-Well," stammered Toshiro, "we'll have a better chance of survival if we stick together, right?"

"This isn't a fairy tale," said the boy scornfully. "We're not going to become best friends and find out we're actually princes of some distant magical place. You'll be lucky if you survive to adulthood."

The boy turned to leave.

"Wait!" called Toshiro, grabbing onto the boy's right sleeve. "I came from the south and haven't a place to stay. Can't I stay with you for a while? I can get my own food and stuff."

"You're that desperate for companionship?"

"I haven't had a conversation with another human being for months if you exclude exchanging insults with those half-brain buffoons that seem to populate the streets lately."

The boy shrugged.

"If you can keep up, you can come," he replied.

Several weeks later, Toshiro still stayed with Soji, who seemed to have grown used to having a companion. Over the course of two years, the two of them became the best of friends, always looking out for each other. Toshiro liked having a friend again and Soji liked having someone who didn't always view him with fear or scorn. Life seemed worthwhile to the two unwanted children during these years.

Soji was always very talented with a sword. He had learned by watching the samurai in the courtyards practice and stage mock fights. The part of the government that controlled Tokyo staged sword competitions at the end of each month in the middle of the city. Everyone who could use a sword was welcome to enter. Toshiro was fascinated by these competitions and watched every single one of them, wishing he could be among them. Everyone there seemed so strong and noble to him. Come the end of the month, Toshiro would urge Soji to attend. Soji would always refuse and the matter was dropped until next month.

But on that one fateful day, Soji entered the competition without Toshiro's urgings. He didn't have a clue why he had done that; his body simply moved on its own as he signed his name.

Needless to say, Soji didn't make it to the final round, being so young (he was six). However, he came very close, being beaten in the penultimate round.

"Nice job," said Toshiro, encouragingly. "You were so close to the finals. Maybe you can win next year."

"No I won't," replied Soji, flatly, wiping his bleeding cut with his sleeve. Apparently two years of spending time with the optimistic Toshiro hadn't the slightest effect on Soji's pessimism.

"Eh? Why?"

"I'm not entering again."

"Don't be such a sore loser."

"I'm not being a sore loser. I just don't want to-"

"Are you Soji-san?"

The two of them turned around to see who had interrupted them. It was a man with a very odd green and white hat.

"You are?" asked Soji.

"Urahara Kisuke," said the man cheerfully. "I take it that you're Soji?"

"Yes," replied Soji. "What do you want?"

"You're brilliant for a kid," said Urahara. "Where'd you learn?"

"I taught myself."

Urahara's obviously false enthusiasm was beginning to get on Soji's nerves.

"You sure? It wasn't- oh, say- a guy with reddish brownish hair?"

"It wasn't. I've never met such a person."

"You're certain? Because…"

"Quit bothering us," snapped Toshiro, cutting in.

"Oh!" exclaimed Urahara, who obviously had not noticed Toshiro. "Are you his brother? You sure do look like it."

"No, I'm his friend. Go away and quit bothering us."

"Are you as good as Soji with a sword, Mr. Friend?"

"Um, no, I don't know how to use one," muttered Toshiro, embarrassed.

"You want to learn?" asked Urahara. "A friend and I can teach you."

Toshiro blinked. Of course he wanted to learn. He opened his mouth, about to agree wholeheartedly with the man.

"Wait," muttered Soji. "I'll advise against it. I don't like this guy."

"This might be my only chance," hissed Toshiro. "I don't see what's wrong with him."

To Urahara he said, "Yes. I would love to learn."

"Excellent," said Urahara. "How about you, Soji? You could improve."

Soji shrugged and agreed incoherently.

The next day, they set out with Urahara to begin their training, not knowing that they would regret this later on. Not knowing that somewhere down the path of life, they would wish that they had never heard about swords or anything of the like.

Author's note: As you've probably figured out by now, Toshiro is Toshiro and Soji is Gin. No idea where this came from. I don't even like Toshiro.


End file.
